Faith only realized the infirmary they were staying was next to the X-Men locker room—and it was one big room, no separate rooms for the genders—when the team rushed in, opening lockers in a rush and just stripping.
The slayers did that, in the middle of a crisis, but their watchers had separate, gender specific, rooms. The X-Men just changed in the same room, and it wasn't like you could wear underclothes in outfits like that. They didn't even bother closing the door, seemingly forgetting that the Scoobies were in the infirmary.
Faith couldn't help but admire the huge guy—Peter, she thought he was called—though she knew he was married, and was pretty sure neither would be amenable to a threesome. Logan… but no, he was serious with Scott, and the chances of her getting with that were pretty nil. Rogue was gorgeous, but she had that whole deadly-skin thing going on. Damn. Well, celibacy seemed the new trend with the Scoobies. Not that she was happy with that; no beer that she could find, no sex, nothing. She wasn't healed enough to fight. What was she supposed to do with this clawing, tearing thing inside her, without any way to exorcise it?
She stared at the room the entire time they were gone, then stared when they came back and stared when they left again, scattering to who-cares-where.
Spike slammed the last cabinet door shut, groaning, and flopped into a chair next to Faith. "Isn't there any beer in this place?" He asked Kitty, just entering.
"It's a school."
"Is that a no?"
She put her hands on her tiny hips. "That's a no."
"Bloody hell." Kitty rolled her eyes, crossed to a cabinet, and tossed each of them a can.
The big Russian guy walked in, and Spike could smell their hormones rocketing. What, were they twelve? "Are you coming back to bed, Katya?" The man asked his wife.
"Bye." Kitty waved, following him out, a wicked smile on her lips.
"I hate this place." Spike groused, staring at the can in his hands. "No beer. Old blood. All of 'em shagging like bloody bunnies. And what the hell is this diet crap?"
"Tell me about it."
After a few minutes of them staring, disillusioned, at their cans of diet coke, Logan swaggered in, stopped and sniffed the air. His face twisted in disgust. "Kitty and Piotr." He said lowly, somehow making the names seem like swear words.
"You and Scott aren't any better." Faith pointed out.
"Nah." He agreed. "But I like how he smells."
Spike changed the subject. "Got any beer?"
"Sure." Logan left, and came back a moment later with two bottles of beer; he deftly twisted off the tops and set them on the table.
"Secret stash." Faith smiled. "Nice."
"For when Scott's out; he hates the stuff." Logan explained. "I never drink it 'round him."
"He hates beer?" Faith asked skeptically.
"Any alcohol." He clarified. "Used to drink it after he went to sleep, but he'd get nasty nightmares, and I couldn't go near him smelling of it. I gave it up."
"Why?"
Logan stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Known one too many mean drunks, he said. The case's in the teacher's lounge, if you want more, but don't go walkin' 'round the halls drunk. Lot of the kids feel the same way Scott does 'bout it."
"Got it." Faith tipped her bottle to him, taking a moment to appreciate Logan's ass as he bent to grab a glass of water.
Spike couldn't help remembering how much Buffy hadn't liked beer; when he'd asked why she'd muttered something about a caveman and he'd let it drop. He smiled and it ached.
He just watched them talk, not joining in. What was the point?
The next day, Dawn checked up on Willow and Xander. The mutant's professional mask had slammed down, leaving her with steady hands and a low, soothing voice. Only the bags under her red-rimmed eyes gave any hint of her grief.
"Looks like you're healing up nicely, Xander." She said, replacing the bandage on one of the deeper cuts. "No sign of infection, and we'll be able get those stitches out in a few days." She turned to Willow. "Pain meds holding up for you?" The redhead nodded. "Good."
Xander stopped her when she went to leave. "Dawnie, wait."
"What?" Dawn paused with her hand on the doorknob, but she didn't turn.
"Do you..." He swallowed, rubbing roughly at his eye. "Can we talk?"
"About what?
He took a long moment. "What do you think?"
"Why would I talk to you?" It wasn't cruel, the way she said it. Just an honest question, as if she really couldn't comprehend why she'd want to share her grief with him.
And thinking about it, he didn't have an answer. Somehow, he'd drifted from her idol to just one of hundreds of Christmas cards. They'd all drifted away from Dawn, at some point, unable to make the transition from 'kid sister' to 'equal'. "I guess I don't know."
She nodded, once, and left.
Lucy sighed, collecting her books and ushering the newer children out of the room. They'd been in the middle of math class when Mr. Logan had come in and spoken quietly into Mr. Summers' ear. Their headmaster had calmly turned, erased the board, and said, "I apologize for the inconvenient timing, but there's a minor emergency in Boston we need to take care of. Do the odd questions on pages 330 and 331, and I'll see you tomorrow." Then he quickly followed Mr. Logan out the door.
Indigo, beside her, glared at the door. She, unlike Lucy, actually liked math. That and art, which, as their next class, would also probably be cancelled by the emergency.
"Ugh." Indigo moaned.
"Yep." Lucy agreed, turning to where a new girl that had resisted their gentle shoves was staring, terrified, at the door. "It's okay, sweetheart. This happens a lot, and everyone's always fine." As soon as the comforted girl left, leaving them alone in the empty classroom, Indigo huffed out an incredulous laugh.
"You know, except for when they're not."
"What was I supposed to say? Everyone's always fine, except when they're not, in which case they're probably dead?"
Indigo shrugged. "Suppose not."
"Exactly. C'mon, we have to head to the cafe."
